


Noble Intentions

by Asset011



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Beating, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Servants, Sex Pollen, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asset011/pseuds/Asset011
Summary: You were a servant, desperate for freedom. The Mandalorian was looking for a high-profile bounty.Instead, he found you.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader
Comments: 15
Kudos: 185





	1. Chapter 1

Noble Intentions

Din Djarin x F! Reader AU

Warnings: violence, angst, forced labor, cursing, one (1) allusion to rape, SMUT/ fingering/oral/dry humping/PIV, brief reference to one (1) mummified head

Word Count: ~7k

Summary: You were sold into a life against your will. He was contracted to capture the son of a tainted nobleman

  
  
  


You had found one another unexpectedly- in fact you’d had no intention of being found by anyone. You’d spent months working at the durasteel collar that had kept you bound to the estate of your masters, a sadistic family of nobles who presented benevolent faces to the adoring public, but in private quarters delighted in cruel manipulation and torture.

You’d been sold to them at the age of fourteen by your father, a loutish philanderer with a gambling problem. The issue wasn’t actually gambling; rather, it was his ability to pay his debts. He'd finally angered the wrong person, the patriarch of the powerful Korro family. Well- known and possessing a far-reaching and illustrious lineage, they were also deeply and secretly entrenched in the criminal underworld of Coruscant. Having bluffed his way to an unpayable debt, faced with his own torture and murder, he’d offered you up as a servant.

He’d thought Arris Korro to be in an especially charitable mood when he’d accepted the deal almost immediately. He should have known that as soon as you were passed to the wealthy man, shaking and weeping, he’d have his head displayed on a pike in the sparring room of the Korro’s compound. He’d had the head preserved by an associate, and it hung shrunken and perverse next to a display of gaudy ceremonial swords.

Korro’s cruel children had taken a particular delight in dragging you into the room and making you look at the head. Many a night you’d awoken screaming and tearing at your threadbare shift, haunted by the sunken craters that once held his eyes and the bottomless gape of a mouth frozen in horror.

That first day, as you’d sniveled and pleaded with a stern governess, your collar had been fastened. A smooth ring of durasteel encased you, seemingly featureless on the outside. On the inside needles lined the concave surface, serving various purposes according to what the controller intended to invoke in the wearer. Some were meant to induce an adrenaline response, some were to bend the mind to one’s will. Some were to inspire lust, turning the wearer into a pliant recipient of whatever the wielder intended. One had only to press the desired tab on the controller and the corresponding needles would sink into the tender flesh of the wearer’s neck, dispensing the appropriate chemicals. Once applied, the collar was not to be removed under penalty of death.

You’d been yoked with the collar since that pitiful day. Your training in servitude began with your first beating at the hands of the governess, followed by the shearing of your hair down to the scalp. You were told that you would need to be a quick learner in order to survive more than a few cycles- servants in the compound had an unsavory knack for vanishing after forgetting a minute detail of a task assigned or for whimpering a moment too long against the lash of a whip.

A quick learner you were. You learned to move silently through the smooth stone hallways and alcoves. You knew to disappear into shadows, becoming as small as possible, invisible. You learned to anticipate every need of your masters, at times knowing what they needed before they did. Most of all, you learned to _watch_.

Before she’d died, your mother had taught you to read. Books were hard to come by where you were from, and both reading and writing were not considered overly important. The widespread presence of data pads had rendered physical tomes nearly obsolete. Even so, she had once slipped a battered copy of short stories under your bedroll. It had contained tales of legends too fantastic to be believed. You’d thought them to be the most astounding and outrageous myths you had ever hoped to encounter. You memorized the book from front to back and recited the stories in your mind when the depressing reality of your circumstances began to press in and darken your edges.

Your masters and peers did not know you could read- indeed, they cared to know as little as possible about you. You chanced savagery again and again by sneaking into the grand library under cover of darkness. You realized you had been trapped in the compound for more than fifteen years one dank night- you decided you were going to do something about it.

You had an analytical mind, and this was reinforced by the engineering texts you’d often liberated from the floor-to-ceiling shelves of tomes, most covered in thickets of dust. You spent countless hours in the dead of night scouring texts for any whisper of the machinations of your collar, of any way to possibly disengage the needles from their nefarious purposes. It was one desperate evening as you crouched on your floor by candlelight that you spied a glimmer of hope in a programming text so ancient the spine had softened like butter, the pages nearly translucent. There was a way to deactivate the collars, however there also existed a significant risk to the wearer. There were a series of links interspersed in between the retracted needles on the inside of the collar that allowed it to circle snug around a servant’s neck. If the links could be manipulated in a certain exacting manner in a specific sequence the collar would be rendered inactive. If pressed in the wrong sequence, one or all of the needles had the potential to discharge into your neck at once, an ominous warning that sent a shiver down your spine.

You’d worked to memorize the sequence, you chanted the series of clicks and movements in your head like a prayer. You tapped your thumb against the pads of your fingers rhythmically, a staccato recitation between your daily duties. When you felt as if you could master the sequence, you snuck your fingers in between your collar and your neck experimentally to gingerly press the links, not daring to do so with much force.

You did not breathe a word of your intentions to anyone, you kept your head down and kept one foot in front of the other, biding your time. Waiting for your window, for a ghost of a chance. Countless months stretched before you, the only life you’ve known extending in an unending series of subjugations and cruelty. 

You’d been ghosting down a corridor one evening when muffled shouting drew your attention to Arris Korro’s quarters, a din of outrage barely contained by the ornate closed door. You sidled to the thick panel and gingerly pressed your ear to the door. You began to hear fragments of a frantic argument.

“......h _ow was I to know she was connected? She was drunk, she was_ all over _me_!”

“ _You continue to embarrass this family and tarnish our name! What were you thinking? You must have known when you were found out she’d tell her father you’d attacked her_! Idiot!”

You knew the voices immediately. The first, the bantha-brained eldest son of the Korro clan, Eldrin. You both had practically grown up together on opposite sides of privilege. He was dull minded and mean, having constantly found himself in trouble for which his well-connected father would be forced to remedy, often with credits. Sometimes with force. For whatever reason, you quickly gleaned that Eldrin may have found himself in a situation that could not be fixed with force or currency. You pressed your ear closer to the door, your heart quickening.

“ _Now you’ve done it. Kriffing_ idiot _. She’s with child and according to the Canlo clan you raped a bastard into her!_ ”

“ _I did nothing of the sort! She begged for it, father! You must believe me!_ ”

“ _It doesn’t matter what I believe! You’re lucky Cain Canlo isn’t hanging you by your prick from his outer walls! He still may, with the bounty he’s got on your empty kriffing head!_ ”

You froze, your heart pounding louder in your chest. Eldrin had impregnated the daughter of a rival syndicate clan. When it was revealed she was with child, it appeared she told her father that the eldest Korro had forced himself upon her. True or not, it seemed Eldrin had a bounty on his head.

_Oh._

You jerked away from the door, eyes sweeping up and down the corridor. You remained alone. You turned and padded quickly toward your quarters in the servant’s wing. You kept your eyes down; your brain worked through this new information furiously.

A bounty. No doubt a high price. Someone was coming for the eldest son, may in fact already be in the vicinity. The Canlos were clever; you’d overheard whispers during charity functions and in booze-soaked studies. When they decided to act, they kept their dealings close to the vest, only imparting impending danger to an enemy at the last possible moment. Usually too late for the target to even react.

Eldrin was right to panic.

A brief, hesitant glimmer of hope was blooming in your chest. 

As you made your way to your quarters, you’d noticed the growing din of commotion toward the wide foyer. You followed it, staying close to the wall. Your heart was now a hammer against your ribs.

You were right to anticipate trouble had already arrived. You’d barely made it five more steps before a deafening blast threw you back into a stone column. The front gates had been breached, the doorway blew inward. Shrapnel splintered and cracked against the stone floors. You reflexively crouched behind the pillar, waiting for a chance, any chance in this gift of a distraction.

An imposing figure strode in, cloaked head to toe in armor. The figure 

_(he?)_

Remained silent and purposeful. He did not speak, merely angled a long, forked rifle toward anyone who may dare approach.

No one dared.

He clutched a small metal square that blinked rapidly red. It emitted a sound that was urgent, insistent. The others that had gathered seemed to grasp the heavy urgency of what was happening; they were promptly scattering like insects, desperate to avoid attracting the attention of who had to be the bounty hunter sent after Eldrin. 

You held your breath. The imposing hunter breezed past you, single-minded in his movements. 

The beeping and footsteps retreated. You felt as if you were dreaming.

You stood on shaking legs and moved to the door. No one was there to stop you.

You stepped out into dry sunlight. 

You could barely believe your eyes when you saw the ship in the courtyard, ramp extended downward. You did not hesitate- you _ran_.

Up the ramp, into the undercarriage. Desperate, you looked for a place to hide. There was not much to choose from, but you did spy what appeared to be an equipment locker, just barely large enough for you. You squeezed yourself in, consciously slowing your breaths as you wrapped your head around the reality of what you’d just done.

You had not had time to remove the collar in the chaos of everything that had happened so quickly, but you were out of the compound.

You’d made it out.

******

You shut the door, you crouched, and you waited. Before too long you heard the hunter’s approach, along with Eldrin’s pathetic pleas. Offering money, offering jewels, influence, power. Pleasures of the flesh from any and all genders. The hunter did not speak, but handled the eldest Korro child roughly, scraping and bumping. You heard Eldrin gasp, then swear.

“Watch yourself, you kriffing savage! This coat cost more than this entire ship!”

A further stumble, a muffled cry, and then the sound of canned whooshing. And silence.

You could not glean what had happened to the hapless bounty, but you knew whatever occurred had silenced his insufferable yapping at least temporarily. You silently thanked this being for this, as well as for your as-of-yet unknown passage.

Soon after you felt the unwieldy liftoff of the ship, your legs began to cramp. You also felt the dull ache and press of your bladder. You cursed the limitations of your body; you’d hoped to reveal yourself further into the flight. Realizing that your legs were actually going numb at this point, you had no choice. You lifted the panel on the locker and half stepped, half-tumbled out of the narrow space. Your knees hit cold metal grating, you winced in pain. You sat there for a few beats, flexing your feet to get the blood flowing. You did not think of the sound you made when your knees hit the ground, how the grates rattled and vibrated through the floor and up the wall of the ship, echoing into the cockpit above. You did not think of how well the bounty hunter knew his ship, all its groans and creaks as familiar to him as the beat of his heart.

You certainly did not think of the possibility of the infrared sensors detecting your body heat immediately upon entering the ship.

You stilled where you sat as you felt the hairs standing up on your neck a beat before you felt cold metal at the base of your skull.

“ _Get up_.”

The voice was deep, rough, as if too often unused. It held a modulated quality that drifted down to you and brushed against you with cold authority. You had no choice, you clumsily got to your feet and stood silent, head down, awaiting your judgement.

“Turn around.” Another command full of utility and brevity.

Holding your breath you turned to face the hunter. You craned your head up and up, taking in his imposing figure, covered in silver plates curved to cradle muscle. His gloves grasped that long, forked rifle aimed at your chest. Not a sliver of skin was visible as his head was entirely covered in a sharply angled helmet. You could see no eyes beyond the blackened slit of his visor. Perhaps he was a droid.

“What made you think it was a good idea to sneak onto my ship?”

You could not find your tongue. You swallowed thickly and shrugged, your eyes dropping back down to the floor. You began to house some belated regret at your rash decision.

“I’m bringing you back.”

Your indignation slammed into you with an intensity that startled you. Your eyes burned with unshed tears. Gritting your teeth you raised your gaze to the visor once again, this time staring defiantly into what you hoped were eyes. Without thinking it through you advanced on the hunter, reaching out to grasp the nozzle of the rifle. You lodged it firmly against your chest.

“ _I’m not going back_.”

The bounty hunter seemed taken aback by your actions, appearing to freeze in place. There followed a beat of silence. The helmet tilted downward, considering, for an endless eternity.

“You can’t stay here.”

“Then make this quick, a death here is a reward compared to what I’ll face if you bring me back there.”

You started as the hunter _sighed_. You decided he wasn’t a droid. 

The visor tilted further. The rifle was removed from your chest.

“You’re some kind of slave?”

“More like….a servant. Unpaid.”

“So, like a slave.”

You felt foolish, brash. What had you truly expected to happen?

He stood for an endless moment as if mulling something over. At long last, he spoke. 

“Do you know anything about rewiring a heating tank?”

******

And so, you’d come to be acquainted with a Mandalorian. You had recognized his appearance in some distant way, in something you could not quite place. It was not until you’d begun to ask halting questions that you had connected the dim familiarity that tugged on the strings in your mind. Your childhood book, something that you’d lost to the aether during your sudden transition into servitude. One of the tales from the book had told of the mighty Mandalorian warriors who had once been proud and prolific, living by a set code and creed. Their ranks were decimated, until they were forced to hide underground. You were unsure how much of this was the truth, at the time so enamored with fanciful tales that you could barely separate reality from fantasy in your own child’s mind.

You were no engineer or ship mechanic, that much you told him honestly. You were, however, willing to learn, and due to the voracious manner in which you’d devoured books from the Korro library you learned quickly and you were determined to earn your keep as long as the Mandalorian agreed to have you.

What had started out as a tense, almost silent partnership eventually became agreeable, if not peaceful or particularly talkative. You gave him your name on that first day, and he told you to call him Mando. So you did, and you found yourselves often in companionable silence. You were not used to speaking unless prompted to do so, and was certainly used to the silence of a solitary existence. You eased into conversation with halting footfalls, the syllables heavily measured and considered before falling from your lips.

The one thing that had not gone according to any sort of plan was the collar. You’d had every intention of removing it post-haste, but things had been complicated by your abrupt introduction. You had still rehearsed the sequence of steps, but you did not have the luxury of the faded book to reassure you. You found yourself on your thin makeshift cot at night turning the steps over and over in your head. It had been months since your escape. You had begun to doubt yourself. It had been so long since you’d seen the book. You silently cursed yourself for not writing the information down, though realistically you’d known that it would have been too risky in those circumstances to keep evidence of your intentions.

You remembered the first time Mando had offered to help you with the collar, how it had come unexpectedly in the middle of a stilted conversation about comm wiring.

“Do you want to take that off?,” he’d asked after a thoughtful silence.

“Eventually.” You could not find it in you to tell him that you were scared. Not yet.

“Would you like me to help you?” It was so unexpected that you cursed the sudden heat that bloomed in your belly. Something dark and secret made itself known within you, you were unsure if it was loneliness or the gesture of simple kindness, but you felt an untethering of sorts. 

It felt foreign and you weren’t sure you liked it.

He only asked you once more after that, and you had considered before ultimately declining. You had started to feel certain things for the man you could not see who showed you such quiet kindness and consideration. You felt like you would fly apart if you let him get too close. You had retreated with a pounding heart, almost stumbling in your haste. Mando stood frozen where he stood, silent, helm turned downward. You were immediately sorry for your retreat, you could almost imagine you had hurt him. 

But you knew you could not, you were aimless and drifting, dependent on his charity. Mando could and did survive easily without you. Once again you were at the mercy of another, and you hated it. You could not apologize for startling like a preyed-upon creature revealed to sunlight within a den of predation. 

You were simply doing what you needed to in order to survive.

******

Mando never slept more than a few hours at a time. He’d snooze in his pilot’s chair with his feet propped up and crossed on the console. A couple of times you even caught him napping at the table where you both cleaned weapons. Those were moments that unexpectedly endeared him to you. You supposed his circumstances allowed for little more in the way of restful slumber out of necessity. You yourself slept fitfully, curled up on the thin pallet that had been fashioned into a makeshift bed for you in the belly of the ship. You were used to hovering just under unconsciousness, mindful that at any moment you’d be called upon according to the debauched and rancid whims of your keepers. Despite the relative safety of your new circumstances this behavior had been hardwired into you and you found it a difficult habit to change.

A body could be driven only so far, however. You had deduced that Mando was almost certainly human in that every so often he’d accept defeat and recognize his mortal limitations. He would announce quietly that he was going to his quarters, ensuring you would know not to disturb him under any circumstances. The door to his cabin always remained closed, and you never saw him enter or exit; you always retreated down the ladder to give him space, reading on the halopad he’d lent you until your own eyes filled with sand and your head drooped in hypnic jerks.

It was on one such night, Mando’s exhaustion evident in the way he’d excused himself earlier than usual, that you had had enough. You fear and uncertainty where the collar was concerned had morphed over time into black hatred and a dull rage. You hated that it was still there, that it remained a stubborn and glaring symbol of your servitude. You knew you could die if you slipped up even slightly and at that point you found it hard to care. Mando was sleeping, well away from any potentially gruesome complication. You had a brief moment of guilt as you imagined the possibility of the Mandolorian finding your body before you clenched your jaw and got to work.

_One_.

_Twelve, right._

_Five._

_Seven, left._

_Nine._

_Two, left_.

Your fingers were slick with sweat as you worked the interior links. You paused, drawing in a shaking breath. You forced yourself to a state of stillness.

_Steady._

_One, left._

_Twelve, left._

_Twelve…..left?_

You realized your mistake too late as you heard the faint hiss and before you knew it, the cruel pinch of the needle lanced your neck. Blooms of panic flooded your chest as your own mortality hammered your brain and you were up, couldn’t _think_ , couldn’t accept that this was happening.

You scrambled up the ladder. Your brain was sparking, frenzied thought propelling you forward. You were only partially aware of your actions as you felt as if you were moving underwater. You reached Mando’s door and slammed your open palms onto the metal of his door frantically, forcefully. You found yourself not quite as ready to accept your own death as you’d thought. You leaned your forehead against the cool durasteel, hyperventilating. You felt dizzy, ephemeral. 

You heard clanging and cursing from the other side of the door. You tipped suddenly forward into the firm wall of the Mandalorian’s chest where he suddenly stood in the now open doorway. He took in your panicked expression, your panting breaths. Without preamble he was grasping your biceps and dragging you backward into his quarters. He spun you and pushed down and suddenly you were sitting on the edge of his cot.

“What happened? Speak.”

You looked up at him with wide, watery eyes.

“The collar…..”

His fingers were immediately on your neck, working at the ring, slipping between the metal and your neck. You dimly realized you were feeling the warmth of skin rather than smooth leather.

“You unclasped it,” he stated softly, almost in wonderment.

He moved to remove it, and at the same time you spoke.

“I got stuck. Not sure which one. Don’t know what will happen.”

He had the collar free from your neck and was moving it aside when you heard his low hiss.

_No_.

He opened his palm, flexed it, and quickly flung it against the nearest wall. You had just a moment to visualize the same needle imbedded in the Mandalorian’s hand.

_Not him_.

His helmet tipped down to consider his new predicament. It was then, in a moment of clarity you realized why the length of body you’d crashed again had felt solid but _soft_. You’d never seen Mando without his beskar, and now you were seeing him with just the helmet and soft-woven fabric of a thermal undershirt. As you registered this fact while he crouched before you, an overwhelming wave of heat washed over you and settled between your legs. It became an urgent ache.

Your eyes widened as you realized which of the needles had pierced you, and then had pierced Mando.

“What’s going to happen? Are we in danger?” his voice was low, urgent. It sent a shock of electricity down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut. You felt like you were trembling; you hoped he didn’t notice but _oh, you knew better_.

He missed _nothing_. And it was only a matter of time before he felt the same effects, albeit in what seemed a smaller dose. You’d taken near to an entire vial of the amatory agent into the vein in your neck.

“Um….” your mouth was burning. You were finding it increasingly hard to focus. You smelled him, sharp, an assault on your dwindling resolve. It was happening so _fast_ now that it had begun, faster than you had ever experienced. You had to rush out your words to hold onto coherence before you lost yourself entirely.

“It’s the, uh…..an amatory agent. Meant to...to..arouse. I, ah, I got a lot of it. Not you. Some, not as much…”

Mando shifted, rocking back on his heels. The helmet made it impossible to read his reaction. Finally, he cleared his throat. It sounded akin to a growl through his modulator and you squeezed your legs together as a sudden rush of arousal pooled in your underwear. You could feel it run down your legs. The burning, pulling feeling intensified. It was going to hurt, you knew.

You were in trouble.

“What happens if, you….if you don’t. You know. If it’s not addressed?” He sounded almost _shy_.

You forced your eyes to focus, but you only succeeded in staring at his groin. You whimpered.

_“Pain.”_

His hands were running absent-mindedly up and down the cloth of his thighs. It was intoxicating. His hands. How would they feel on you? You hadn’t realized you had actually _moaned_ until Mandos' own wrecked sound answered you.

He spoke your name. You were suddenly, shockingly, on the edge of coming. You looked down, mouth open, knees twitching of their own volition.

“Do you hate me?” he whispered. It was desperate, but you could still feel the edge of resignation running through the question like a slow ghost.

You shook your head forcefully.

“N-no...I..want…. _have wanted_ …”

You heard his sharp intake. You distantly realized your back was arching. He had moved closer. You saw that his own hands were trembling.

“I need to…..hear you say it.”

You moved to the edge of the cot, ready to launch yourself at this man you couldn’t even _see_.

_“I need you. Take me. Please,_ ” you gasped, and then you were straddling him, gripping his thermal in both clenching fists as you ground onto him and your first orgasm crashed into you so explosively that you _screamed_ , burying your head into the crook of his neck so that beskar bit into your cheek. You shook, legs trembling uncontrollably as you groaned and panted, hour hips thrusting against his hot, clothed length.

“ _Maker….shit...oh gods did you just….?_ ”

“ _Uh, ah….yesss, Maker-_ fuck!”

His arms wound around you, crushing you to his chest. He moved to push you back onto the cot, but you instead guided him onto his back so that you straddled him. A low groan melted through the mouthpiece. Your hands snaked under his thermal and you raked it up, exposing a bare chest littered with scars, the skin golden and soft for all of its trauma. Muscles twitched and fluttered, stomach heaving with his desperate panting. You leaned forward and licked a long, hot stripe from his navel to his chest.

He cried out, thoroughly wrecked, exhaling with force that distorted the sound through the helmet. Almost musical. You wanted to hear him, again and again, as your cunt bore down and soaked the crotch of his pants.

You moved slowly down his chest, nipping softly at his skin. You paused at each nipple to suck, then bite, which rewarded you with whines that shot straight to your clenching core. You continued downward in the same way until your mouth hovered over the straining tent of his clothed cock. Your mouth fastened on the ruined fabric, tasting your own slick as you applied your lips to his length and exhaled the heat of your breath against his bulge.

“Maker….fuck...I. You don’t have to…”

Your eyes blown back, you gazed up with a soft smile and ran your hand over him from the base to the tip, squeezing gently. He jumped in your hand, impossibly hot through the damp fabric.

“ _Mando, please. Let me put it in my mouth_. I need it.” 

With that, you eased his waistband down, and revealed the largest, thickest cock you had ever seen. Red, pulsating, precum _weeping_ from the head. The sound that escaped you was feral. Your mouth watered. You had never needed something as _desperately_ as you needed him in your mouth, down your throat.

You could fit little more than his leaking tip, but your hands were able to handle the rest. You worked your mouth in a twisting motion as your hands squeezed and followed, up and then down. You left one hand on his shaft as your other reached down to cup his balls, drawn high and tight against his body. His legs shook, his hands reached down to cup your head gently as he keened and gasped and panted. Mando rocked his hips up into your hungry mouth. You felt like even this would be enough for you. You’d had dalliances with your employers who had taken their pleasure selfishly, you’d put your mouth on both men and women in as wanton a manner as they’d required. You had never in all of your experiences felt such cresting lust, such pulling desire as you did on this cot giving the Mandalorian this pleasure.

You paused to pant against his length as it twitched against your cheek.

_“Mando,”_ you whispered, voice hoarse and rough from your efforts. _“I love to make you feel good. So good for me. I need you to come in my mouth, okay? I need to swallow it_.”

Mando sobbed against the still air of the _Razorcrest_ as his hand moved to cup your jaw.

_“Sweet Maker, please don’t stop._ ”

You latched back onto him and resumed your ministrations with more vigor than before. 

He came with a strangled cry, hips stuttering up uncontrollably. His come flooded you, filling your mouth and leaking almost immediately to drip around your mouth, down your chin. It was an astonishing amount that seemed unending. You were determined to finish what you’d started, and you licked him deliriously until he stilled you with a hand to the crown of your head, gently tugging you up to lie across his broad and heaving chest.

His heart beat erratically under your hand as you stroked across the expanse of his body, your hips grinding onto his side as you found yourself desperate for friction, for anything. Your first orgasm had not dulled the fire within you: on the contrary your cunt clenched and wept for something, _anything_. You felt insatiable, and your hand once again moved to Mando’s cock. It had never softened, instead it curved rigidly upward against his belly.

His hand stilled over yours. His panting had slowed somewhat, was less harsh and desperate.

“ _Huh...do you_ ..trust _me?”_

 _“Yes.”_ No hesitation, no thought. You trusted him. With your life, with everything.

He reached over to a crate beside the bed and picked up a scrap of cloth.

“Will you put this on? Is that okay?”

You nodded. You knew what his intentions were, and you could hardly believe he was going to allow such a thing. You trembled for a different reason as he brought the cloth to your face and covered your eyes, tying in the back in a manner that was inconceivably gentle.

You confirmed with him that you could not see, and he guided your body down to lie supine across the cot. You thrummed as the room plunged into darkness and heard the rustling of hasty disrobing. You joined him, removing your meager clothes as quickly as you could without disturbing the cloth around your eyes. Your hands still shook, your heart hammered. You still could not fathom that this was happening, you had been convinced you were about to die only a short time ago, and now the Mandalorian was removing his clothes and his helmet so he could fuck you.

Your life was a strange thing.

You felt the cot dip. Your hands twitched toward him, then stilled as you first felt the heat of his naked skin coasting up your bare torso. It was a revelation, his hands slow and heavy, deliberate and desperate in equal turns. You arched into him, aching for any amount of contact he was willing to give to you, this Mandalorian who had deemed you worthy of feeling him, of taking him. Your wanton groans and whimpers echoed in his chamber as you canted your hips up, searching for contact, for anything to quell your burning heat.

You felt hot breath against your mouth, gasping, pausing.

_“I need to kiss you, Mesh’la. Darling girl..”_

You answered him by reaching carefully, gingerly, to feel the stubble at his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, the soft hair that curled around his ears.

He felt so absolutely _beautiful_.

You lifted your face as he captured your lips, desperate, hot tongue licking into the depths of your eager mouth as you moaned into him. It was dizzying; you never wanted it to end. Mando kissed you as if you were about to crumble to dust beneath him. All the while his hands stroked and grasped whatever softness he could find, starved for any kind of contact, of proof you were real.

When he finally pulled away from you with a soft groan, the burning between your legs had built almost unbearably. Your hips flexed of their own volition, seeking some kind of contact, _anything_.

“Mando, _please_ ,” you whined.

You once again felt his mouth hovering, considering, before his hoarse whisper answered you.

“My name is Din.”

The words flew like a prayer from his mouth that your heart reached out to capture. To keep safe and secret from all of the ugliness in these many worlds and your chest swelled with such unexpected emotion you struggled to breathe.

_Din._

He was kissing down your body, worshipping your breasts with his mouth, his tongue, his hands. Rounding down your stomach, kissing and licking your gentle curves, reveling in your softness, how you were so pliable and Maker-forsaken _warm_. You realized that somewhere along this carnal journey, things had shifted between you, become warmer, larger. You wondered how much of the serum remained in your system. You knew you wanted him to keep doing this, let you give yourself to him. His own actions seemed more deliberate, less frenzied. 

He groaned as he arrived at your core, the mess of your arousal ever-replenishing, flowing like honey from your fluttering hole. His hand snaked up your thigh to rest at the junction of your hip, squeezing almost painfully.

“Mesh’la…” he sighed. “I’ve dreamed of kissing you here. You are so much more beautiful than I could have imagined.”

“Please…” you whimpered. You could feel his breath on your core. You felt near to hysteria with agonal need. Mando (Din) placed a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Say my name.”

Your cunt clenched around nothing at his breathless request.

“Please, Din….I need you…”

Your voice trailed off to a hoarse cry as his tongue darted forward, entering you without preamble, his arms held you down to the cot as he went feral, kissing and sucking your lips into his mouth before releasing them with an obscene sound that reverberated within the walls of his quarters. You sobbed as a thick finger briefly teased at your entrance before he entered you, pushing through your wet resistance to find its place deep within your quivering walls.

You had never felt something so exquisite, the pleasure spiking up and out from your cunt and moving outward in waves, moving to occupy every atom and consume every space of these quarters, writing in permanent scrolls of desire and inscribing infinitus gasps, cries, pants into the fabric of who you were, who Din was helping you to become.

When he latched onto your turgid clit you flew apart, crying out, sobbing, grinding your hips against his eager mouth and thrusting fingers as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through you, taking you apart. You felt your cunt gushing, felt Din lapping desperately at you as if his very _life_ depended on accepting every single bit of your release onto his tongue. He finally slowed his ministrations when you tugged at his hair, drawing him up your body that continued to spasm and shake of its own accord.

When his hands reached your face, they cradled your jaw with a carefulness that jarred you, as if you were made of glass. His kiss, infused with your slick, was gentle, reverent.

“Thank you,” he groaned. You still felt his hot length against your thigh.

“I need you inside of me,”your head was swimming, staticky. He was all you could sense, filling everything. You needed him filling you.

“My name, Mesh’la. Please.”

_“Din….I can’t wait any longer…”_

He moved between your legs. You felt him at your entrance, impossibly large and blunt.

He entered you slowly, carefully. He must have known to be incremental in his penetration. Each drive forward drew him in, each ridge and vein felt as overwhelming as you had hoped. Your mouth gaped, gasping for your breath, panting and keening as he stretched you to your limit and then, impossibly, just a bit more. When his hips finally met yours, your cry was ragged.

“Am I hurting you?” his whisper was low and urgent. “Do you need to stop?....”

You _howled_ , sinking your teeth into the meat of his shoulder.

“Din…” you growled out against his sweat-slicked skin. “Don’t you dare stop. _Move, please-gods-fuckkk!”_

Move, he did. What started out slow and gentle quickly devolved into Din snapping his hips into you, obscene sounds of slapping skin and squelching fluids echoed and the _filth_ that spewed from his mouth had you jerking, shaking, screaming. As his cock stretched you and hit a spot inside of you over and over that made you feel as if you were flying apart. Your hips met his thrust for thrust as your feral rhythm continued. He latched his mouth to your neck, gasping and groaning, completely unhinged, unreserved and _brutal_.

_“So good for me, cunt made for me, take this cock...so perfect. Over and over. Made for me. Sweet, beautiful girl…”_

You could not form your own words in answer to him. You felt your tears leaking down your cheeks to soak his pillow. There was only Din, and as you felt your final orgasm spike within you violently you knew in your heart of hearts that you belonged to one another, that this was always meant to happen, that no matter what other lifetime or alternate universe you found beyond your death your soul would find his. He was destined to both break and mend you for endless eternities.

You came once more, jerking, shaking, gushing. Din was not far behind you, hips stuttering and faltering as he spilled inside of you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, bringing him in close. He wiped the tears from your eyes and asked you to stay with him.

You had no choice, no other decision to make. You drifted off into the new safe space Din had created for you within the rooms that made up your heart, and you swore that you could heal, you could find yourself and find your life and your purpose if only Din would keep you here. Against his bare side as you slid off to sleep, your eyes still covered by the cloth he had tied for you blind trust evident as always in every interaction and intention.

Din was home.

  
  



	2. The Sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Reader must come to terms with the events of that night.

You had fully expected things to drastically change between you both after that night. Whether good or bad, you knew to prepare yourself for either eventuality.

You’d extricated yourself from beneath his heavy arm when his even breathing had devolved into soft snores. You winced as you padded away. You hoped you wouldn’t wake him. He needed to rest, and perhaps you’d assisted him in achieving meaningful slumber.

_ Din _ .

The name he’d given you in the throes of what seemed to be manufactured passion remained in the back of your throat like an endangered bird lashed against the stretched moorings of your vocal cords, as afraid of its freedom as it was of possible extinction.

You needed the ‘fresher before retiring to your own cot; the remnants of what the Mandalorian had left inside of you leaked steadily, unashamedly down your thighs. You knew that you were going to feel him with every step you took for days to come.

When you finished cleaning up and lay your head down on the sparse mat you called your bed, you decided that you were not going to mention what had happened. You still felt fragile, unsure of your place in all of this. Still dependent on another’s kindness and sense of charity. If Mando

_ (Din) _

decided to broach the subject with you after the fact, you would address it then. You knew you’d had no control over how desperate you’d been, how lasciviously you’d bared yourself to him. You tried not to dwell on the sounds you had made, on the sounds your body had made. 

What was done had been done.

Your fingers drifted up to your neck as your eyelids became heavier. Strange, not to have the familiar weight of the collar upon you. This, as well, would be an adjustment. You’d gone so long with the ring of durasteel being a part of you, a part of your identity and station. You felt somehow even further unmoored by this, by who you were now.

You simply didn’t know, not yet.

******

You weren’t sure what you had expected to happen, but it did include at least some inkling of recognition from the other party. It was not as if you were expecting anything like an earnest confession of undying love, or for that matter an admission that the carnality you’d both participated in had been a mistake that was not to be repeated.

Instead, Din said nothing. Aside from being a bit more silent than usual, he did nothing to acknowledge the happenings of the night before. It was as if it were all a dream. You were confused, but then this man remained a conundrum to you in a myriad of ways, not the least of which included how well he guarded his heart. The more you thought on this, the more resolute you became to leave things unsaid for the sake of your safety, of the precarious peace you found with this near-stranger. You had been under the effects of a nefarious serum; you had both only followed the directives of what your bodies had demanded.

The only time he spoke to you, aside from excusing himself while squeezing past you in the narrow confines of the  _ Crest _ , was to tell you he was bringing the both of you to Nevarro. There was a man there that he was to meet regarding bounty pucks. Despite the questions that percolated on the tip of your tongue you did not want to disturb your fragile peace. You stayed to yourself, drawn inward, sitting behind and to the right of the Mandalorian as the stars elongated into abstract ribbons of light.

******

Nevarro was jarring compared to the relative silence of Mando’s ship. You threaded yourself quickly behind his fluttering cape as he strode with purpose toward the cantina. The cacophony of merchants hawking their wares warred with your focus as you struggled not to be left behind. You coughed and sputtered as the dust kicked up from his boots assaulted your senses and clouded your vision; Mando gave no indication of awareness. You felt as if you could scatter to oblivion on the wind and it would take him parsecs to notice you were gone. As soon as the thought entered your mind you felt a wave of hurt that made your chest clench and stomach drop.

It wasn’t so much that you were familiar with the feeling of being needed, it was that someone who’d so recently been inside of you seemed somehow determined to leave you in a chaotic market without thought.

You arrived at the cantina at last. Mando zeroed in on a man with his arm slung casually over the back of his seat, sipping on something from a large flagon. The man’s eyes lit up when he spied Mando’s imposing figure and stood to greet him with a wide smile and boisterous laughter.

So unlike Mando in both mannerisms and physical contact, you observed the man, Greef Karga, clasp Mando’s forearm in a gesture of warm familiarity. It was the first time you saw someone react to the Mandalorian with anything other than awed respect or cold mistrust. You decided immediately that you liked him.

You both sat across from Karga and listened as he regaled you with tales of his various adventures and scandalous exploits. He asked about you, showed a genuine interest in your name, where you were from, how you’d become entangled with Mando.

That was his word,  _ entangled.  _

You answered him in as few words as you could, unused as you were to any kind of focused attention. Mando sat beside you. When you began to falter and stutter, trailing off during a question regarding your lineage on Coruscant, you felt Mando almost imperceptibly widen his legs until his knee rested against yours.

You visibly startled at the unexpected pressure, clearing your throat and dropping your gaze from Karga’s inquisitive line of sight.

_ Could Din tell you were becoming overwhelmed? Did he _ care? 

“As much as I know how you enjoy talking, I’m here for work,” the Mandalorian rasped, getting right to business. Karga chuckled, reaching into the pocket of his overcoat.

“Always getting right to the point, Mando,” he winked at you as he placed a cluster of fobs on the table. “Now, you know the rules of the Guild. Save some for the others.”

“If you won’t give me all of them, give me your highest paying job.”

Karga considered before selecting one of the fobs before you both. He slid it across the table into Mando’s waiting palm.

“This one would be what you’re looking for. Bookie’s been skimming off the top of his clientele. He’s made some powerful enemies in high places.”

“Where?”

“A place we were just discussing, strangely enough. Coruscant.”

In your peripheral you noted Din’s helmet tick toward you, considering. You felt frozen, suspended. Your eyes fixed to the table. You wanted to sink into the ground, to disappear into oblivion. 

You were not so foolish to believe that you were of any lingering importance there. It was knowing that you could go back, you could face and revisit a life you’d tried so desperately to escape, to breathe meaning into a pointless existence.

_ You didn’t want to go back. _

“I’ll take it,” Din moved to stand, then looked expectantly down at you. Swallowing sawdust, you felt as though you were astrally projecting into a lucid nightmare.

******

Only a short time later,  _ too _ short, you were back in the place you swore you’d never have to set foot upon again. 

Back on the ship you had removed yourself from Mando’s presence. You sat on your thin, spindly cot and tried to get your breathing under control.

This was his job.This was how he put food in your bellies, fuel on the Crest. Who were you to struggle with the simple truth of what was before you? Was it not your choice to stay, despite being given the opportunity to settle on any number of favorable planets? Was it part of the vaguely familiar muscle memory of being wanted, desiring the touch of another, if only for one night?

Did you stay because some deeply buried and hidden part of your heart wanted to be wanted once more, by  _ him? _

__ When the ship eventually touched down in what was assuredly a noisy and chaotic hangar you stepped into the ‘fresher and looked into its warped mirror. You were not used to looking at your own face- mirrors within your old compound were  _ verboten _ in the servants’ quarters. Your only concern at all times were the whims of your masters. Vanity was punished with permanent facial disfigurement.

You were far from vain, but you were concerned about the ragged scars encircling your neck. Remnants of the collar. You could get rid of the nefarious object, but it seemed it ensured both your flesh and your soul were branded in the wake of its divestment.

You wound a strip of fabric around your neck and up over your hair.

There were a trillion people inhabiting the metropolitan planet, but you could not take a chance.

If Nevarro had been cacophonic, the teeming heart of Coruscant’s capital city was a visual and auditory assault on your senses. The spires of duracrete disappeared upward into the troposphere, the air hazy and polluted with dust and combustive remnants. You pulled part of your scarf up over your mouth to keep from choking. You struggled to keep up with Mando, your shoulders and space invaded and bumped over and over by hurried throngs of citizens while merchants cajoled and enticed.

You were determined to stay as close to Mando as possible, snatching at the edges of his cloak as it fluttered in the dirty city air. Crowds parted for him spontaneously, then immediately closed once again in his powerful wake as he tapped the tracker he’d affixed to his belt. You supposed at this point that the Mandalorian barely noticed that throngs of people automatically shrank from his self-assured stride. You focused on his feet in front of you and stilled your mind as well as you could amongst the chaotic machinations of the crowds around you.

So focused were you on not losing sight of the bounty hunter that you let out a muffled yelp when your shoulder was pulled roughly backward. Panic bloomed in your chest as you were wrenched into an alleyway and spun with rough hands until the force of your back hitting the duracrete wall punched your breath from your lungs. You felt the bite of something jagged pressed against your throat.

You did not recognize the face before you, the eyes deep and frenzied, skin sallow. His face, partially obscured by a tattered hood, was twisted into a sneer. As he spoke, spittle misted forth from his chapped maw. You focused on this as time slowed to a halt, fixating on the way the drops glittered against the dull sun like fetid jewels.

“You can’t traipse down the boulevard in the company of a Mandalorian without expecting some undue interest, hmmm? I see the beskar he wears like plumage, showing off for the unwashed masses?”

You were frozen. You could not move, your eyes wide and glazed. You tried to speak, to defend yourself. You yearned to be invisible. The feeling of pressure to your throat began to increase. 

“A servant girl? I could tell from the outset. The way you cower and scrape, desperate to keep up. Pathetic. How much do you think he’ll pay for me not to kill his slave? How much of his armor, if any, do you think you are worth to him?”

“....please,” finally, gasping and so small, your voice so dim and faint.

As suddenly as he’d pulled you into the alley, he was gone. Torn from you suddenly like a ghost. An unearthly and modulated growl filled the narrow space. Din’s shadow filled the entirety of your field of vision, blocking out the sun.

“You do not get to put a hand on her,” his voice was filled with rage. If not for your state of frigid shock you would have been frightened of  _ him. _

__ Several dull thuds, metal pounding flesh into duracrete. Din continued to curse as the man cowered, trying in vain to curl inward and protect himself against the assault.

“You’ll thank the Maker if I let you live,” Mando seethed. You began to be apprehensive that he would be unable to stop, that he would face murder charges by the end of this wretched day.

Eventually, however, the blows seemed to slow in intensity and frequency until the man was left unrecognizable, a sodden heap of clothing tatters and blood. Mando craned his inscrutable helmet downward, his chest plate heaving. He turned to you suddenly as you shuddered against the duracrete. If not for the solid support against your back you knew your legs would not keep you up.

His left fist met the solid wall behind you as his right moved to grasp your shoulder. His visor scanned you frantically as his hand moved firmly down your arm. His voice stayed low, comforting.  _ Concerned _ , of all things.

“Did he touch you? Did he lay a hand on you?” Hand brushing back up your arm, gloved fingers stroking up the side of your throat. Gentle, soothing. The man who’d strode through the city square, kicking up dust and almost determined to lose you as you’d stumbled and stuttered after him, had evaporated. You detected a faint tremble of fingertips as his hand cupped your cheek, thumb rubbing over your cheek bone.

“We’re going back to the ship.”

You gazed into that inscrutable visor. Your mind wandered, unsure of how to process this change within the beskar that had remained so cold and distant to you since the night you’d lost your collar. You focused on a thought, bringing voice to what had previously been a vague sense of unease.

“But….the job. The puck, what about the credits?”

“Fuck the credits. We’re leaving.”

******

Din never wanted to get attached to anyone or anything. The life he lived was filled with cruelty, with austerity. He could not begin to imagine fostering anything that resembled a long-term relationship, least of all a romantic one. He was a lone wolf, a loner with a dubious sense of morality who had a checkered history of making questionable decisions.

Din did not view himself as an entirely good man.

When he’d first detected you on the  _ Crest _ he’d feigned ignorance, scanning the lower levels of the craft as he always did for interlopers or stowaways. When he found your heat signature through his thermal scanner he’d also taken in your trembling, your racing heart. 

Like a trapped animal, he’d thought to himself. 

It was a morbid sense of curiosity that led him to continue ignoring your presence until he had to address the tumbling echoes that shimmied up the body of his ship. At least, that was what he thought at the time. Curiosity, nothing more.

Certainly nothing like loneliness. Never that.

He did his best to tamp down the pull of sympathy as you’d pleaded with him, pleaded for your very  _ life _ . Your eyes large, beseeching, the look of ragged desperation so evident in radiating waves. When you’d pressed the Amban rifle into your chest, trembling, he’d struggled against the sinking sensation that bloomed in his gut. So he let you stay, and he’d given you tasks to make you feel useful. He told himself he did it for you, for your own sense of self-sufficiency. 

He began to become more comfortable around you incrementally, as you warmed slowly to him. You were kind to him, though he somehow knew not to get too close in the way you froze when he brushed past. One time he’d laid a hand on your shoulder to alert you to his presence and you’d flinched. He’d felt sudden rage then, that there existed someone in this galaxy that could condition you to react in such a way, as if expecting a blow. Din knew he himself did not experience touch as a rule- his Creed and his solitude saw to that.

He offered his assistance in removing your collar because he’d felt as if he had to do  _ something _ for you, but he was not surprised when you’d refused. You had your reasons, he’d thought, and he would not pry. Everyone had their own reasons for doing and not doing things, himself included. He kept telling himself not to get attached, but there was a reason he didn’t bring up parting ways with you, wasn’t there? You were kind, you were considerate, you were soft.

You were  _ comforting _ .

He would sooner have jumped into a Sarlacc pit than admit to a single soul that he’d begun spilling into his own hand when he thought of you in the ‘fresher. Forbidden thoughts of how your skin would feel under his calloused hands, how you’d smell. The sounds you’d make, how your lips might slot against his. It was an impossible cruelty to inflict upon himself, but he could not help it that when you’d first started giving him your small smiles he felt as if his heart might explode.

When you’d come to him desperate that one night he’d had to carefully calm his breathing when he saw that the collar was off. When you’d explained what had happened he’d panicked internally while trying to provide reassurance. It had been woefully inadequate. All he knew in that moment was that you could die, and it was terrifying.

Then he’d been stuck in the same way you had, and he found himself lost. He could not deny that he’d wanted it to happen, but he could not forgive himself for doing it under those circumstances.

You’d fucked him because you’d  _ had _ to. To not do so would have brought you unimaginable pain, something that Din could not allow. And so, he’d told himself he was only doing what had needed to be done. It didn’t matter that your skin had been so soft and so, so warm. That the feel of your mouth, your hands, your throbbing cunt had been a heaven unlike anything he’d ever experienced throughout his history of brief, desperate trysts.

He’d never removed his helmet for another living soul. He told himself that he’d done it for you because the serum had been too powerful to resist. Then, he’d given you his  _ name _ . He was ashamed of the way that he’d begged you to say it, but he needed  _ something _ to hang onto. He needed to remember that no matter what happened to him, to you, that someone like you had once spoken his name so sweetly.

He knew you had only fucked him because you’d had no choice, and it was not fair of him to expect that you’d ever want anything like that with him again. He was an island, he was a tetherless hunter, unmoored and dangerous. You deserved comfort and safety, you deserved to be happy. He could not forgive the selfishness he felt when he thought of how ardently he needed you to stay. Stay with him.

It was not honorable, it was not pragmatic.

Din realized he needed to distance himself, and so he did. He imagined only that you would be relieved, that you could put the sordid affair of what the serum had made you do that night, of a regret he convinced himself must consume you.

He had done an admirable job of this, so he’d thought, up until he’d chanced a glance over his shoulder on Coruscant and saw that you weren’t behind him.

He swore his heart stopped, time stopped. He stood motionless for a beat, panic rising fast and sharp and he felt the blood rushing in his ears. He tore through the crowd blindly, yelling your name. The crowds in the square parted silently around him, not brave enough to scold a Mandalorian holding up foot traffic.

By some miracle he’d seen the briefest flash of the cloth you’d wound around your head, down in an alley tucked away from the main drag. You were crowded up against the unyielding wall, some cretin hunched over you. He held something to your throat.

The rage Din felt upon seeing you was blinding, but even more overwhelming than the anger was the  _ fear _ . You were being threatened by this strange man, one who did not deserve to be inhaling the same oxygen as you.

Did not deserve to keep breathing  _ at all. _

__ He was used to maintaining control in all things. He used to house a secret sense of pride at his inestimable levels of self-discipline and restraint. 

Din had to exert every ounce of self-control he possessed not to murder that man. And he hadn’t. But.

_ But. _

He made sure that the man would never forget what a bad idea it was to think he could hurt someone that walked with a Mandalorian. Especially someone a Mando loved.

With that realization, Din knew he was lost to you.

******

He rushed you up the ramp of the  _ Razor Crest _ while holding your elbow. He turned immediately and closed the ramp. When that was done, he spun to face you. You saw that his chest was heaving, you could practically hear the rasp of his breathing. Heavy, urgent.

When he strode toward you, you started. He was making you nervous, you wondered if he was angry with you for not staying with him. You backed up until your back was against the durasteel wall on the far side of the closed ramp. You felt as if he might keep walking until he pushed you right through the hull. Instead he caged you with his arms before leaning his forehead to rest against yours. The beskar felt cool, and it somehow comforted you, your nerves stilling.

Din’s chest heaved once, twice, and a final time before his breath hitched. His hands framed your face, you’d never felt so small.

“I….almost lost you back there. I can’t….can’t lose you. Not ever….never been scared like that..” He sounded as if his heart would stop trying to get the words out, but he couldn’t bear not to say it. 

Your eyes were wide. What was he saying? That he cared? That you perhaps had an inkling of a chance to have your secret desires reciprocated? Your head spun, you felt warmth bloom in your belly.

“You….you don’t want to lose me?”

He was fumbling with his beskar, you noted. His hands were trembling, but his actions were sure. You realized he was disrobing. You had a moment of panic as you wondered if his intentions were what you thought they could be, and you panicked more as you worried they weren’t. When he had stripped the beskar off of his trunk and arms, he reached out. He drew you into his chest. You lay your cheek there, against his heart. You felt it surging, pounding.

He was so large and so, so  _ warm. _

__ “Beautiful girl….,” he whispered into your hair, his breath stirring the strands there. “I can’t ever lose you. The best...best thing in my life. You. So kind. So…. _ good _ . Good to me.”

He moved the helmet a bit lower, notching into the side of your throat. Gentle, careful not to let his sharp edges dig into your tender flesh. His hands moved across your back in firm, slow circles. Your breath hitched, you realized you were trembling.

“I want...want to show myself to you. Not now...some day. Make you mine. Show you….let me show you.  _ Please _ .” Your name left his mouth in a broken groan. He pressed forward, you felt his bulging arousal against your hip. Almost without thinking you widened your stance, your hands on his shoulders and moving down the expanse of his chest. His skin beneath his thin tunic was a furnace. Your palms paused on his heaving stomach and you marveled at the movement of muscle under his hitching diaphragm. Your fingers moved from his abdomen to encircle his hips, muscles so tense and tight that they twitched when they felt your grip. You brought his hips forward until the tent of his cock nudged the soaked seam of your cunt and  _ ground _ him into you. Your head thrown back, your moan was unabashedly loud,  _ filthy, _ echoed in the belly of the  _ Crest _ .

Din crushed you to him and rutted his covered length against you, just left of wrecked, he whimpered as his hands curved over your ass, squeezing, kneading as he rocked against you.

“Unh...fuck, feel so fucking hot...feel how  _ wet _ you are through my pants...are...are you gonna let me...can I...show you..how  _ much _ ..how much I need you…”

You were gasping, your head was swimming. You had never felt so aroused before, never knew how capable you were of this, just his  _ words _ were taking you apart, that husking voice against your neck and he’s never said this  _ much _ to you…

You grasped his arms and arched your back, rubbed your aching, heavy breasts against his chest. The friction of the coarse cloth overwhelmed you, and when his hands rested on them, encompassing them, rubbing, circling your aching peaks, you felt as though you could cry at this, this touch so  _ hot, _ so desperate, how is this real, is this really  _ how good it can feel, even without serum? _

__ “Din…,” your voice was thin, reedy. You palmed him through the crotch of his pants. He answered with a gasp and brought his hands to your face, to the crown of your head, taking the scarf wound around your head. You took the hint, taking over with shaking hands, securing it more quickly than you thought possible given the circumstances.

“Show me, Din...show me, claim me...I need it….need you….”

As soon as your sight was obscured you heard the telltale hiss of Din’s helmet, followed by frantic fumbling and rustling buckles. You were so keyed up you didn’t know what to do with yourself, until you felt hot, gasping breaths against your lips and Din’s mouth was taking you, possessing you, clumsy and urgent. His teeth clashed with yours, his tongue curling into you, wrestling, seeking.

You were drowning, even as Din removed your clothes. He guided you down onto the floor of the ship, you felt the rough fibers of what had to be his cloak beneath your knees. His lips never left yours, you felt your lips swelling, knew they’d be bruised after. You didn’t care, you needed him just like this.  _ Possessing. _

_ “Pretty girl….” _ he crooned into you, biting at your lips, his hands returning to your now-bared breasts “Dream about you. About this. Want to give you everything...take care of you…” You whimpered, head thrown back, you reached for him...his skin was bared to your hungry touch, you stroked across his broad expanse and cried out as his hot, wet mouth closed over your nipple. His teeth nipped lightly at your tip, it sent an unexpected jolt between your legs. You were certain you could cum like this, and he hasn’t even touched you…. _ there _ . Not yet. But you needed him there. Felt like you would  _ die _ if he didn’t.

“I...please. I need you. Please touch me…” 

“I am touching you, sweet girl…”

“Gods….not there... _ oh, fuck _ ….”

“Tell me...tell me where you need me..use your words..”

“Here...here…” You took his hand and dragged it roughly down your body to your core. “Right...fucking...herefuuuuuuckkk..”

Din moaned when his hand reached your cunt, cupping it, rubbing slowly back and forth. You heard his muttered curses, barely audible.

“Shit,  _ fuck _ ...you are fucking  _ dripping _ , your fucking t _ highs _ ….holy Maker…..” When the heel of his hand brushed over your clit you cried out, collapsing forward until Din had to steady you. He guided you down to your back, reaching up to brush your fingers across your jaw. You heard his startled gasp, followed by his low groan as you drew his fingers into your mouth, sucking your arousal off of him. You slicked his fingers and then moved them back down to your cunt. You felt hot down there, heavy, unbelievably swollen. Your hips canted upward, desperate for contact. Your sob echoed through the hull when you felt his finger, so light, trace you from the bottom of your opening to circle gently around your hard clit before going back down. You vaguely registered that you were pleading.

“Din... _ oh Maker Din, please _ . I need something,  _ anything _ . Please.  _ I need something inside… _ ”

Din’s own grown almost fucking wrecked you. He sounded like he was on the verge of reaching his own end, and you had barely touched him.

“You need me sweetheart? You need me inside you? I’m going to put my fingers in your pussy first. Make you ready for my cock...Let me take care of you…”

You felt his fingers, two of them, at your entrance. You keened out as they entered you, stretching your walls, breaking you open. Impossibly thick, they slid in so slowly as Din nipped at your neck, your shoulders, whispering absolute filth to you, moaning as your walls drew him in, fluttering. When he could go no further he curled his fingers upward, zeroing in on a textured patch of flesh near your opening and began driving into your cunt slowly and firmly, over and over.

You never knew that anything could feel this good….you should have felt shame at the noises you made, the wet, filthy squelching sounds that echoed forth from your swollen cunt at each drive in of Din’s fingers. You were brought to the cusp of something overwhelming, something devastating. You felt pressure building low in your belly, your legs began to shake uncontrollably.

And, as stoic and taciturn as Din could typically be in any other given situation, the man  _ couldn’t stop _ running his mouth while his fingers fucked you.

_ “Fuck yessss _ , sweet girl, I know you’re so close, I can  _ feel _ you….don’t hold back sweetheart,  _ give me everything _ ….come for me, let it happen, show me just how good I’m making this little pussy feel….”

You had...no  _ idea _ how mere words could have such an effect on someone, but suddenly you wanted to give everything to him, show him you were his good girl, give him what he needed so desperately to give him what he knew you needed….

So when he rubbed his thumb firmly over your clit with each thrust once, twice, three times your dam burst, you were breathless with the intensity of the pleasure that was exploding out of you, gushing from your cunt, soaking the cloth beneath you, drenching Din’s fingers, his wrist. Your head was thrown back, your mouth gaping. You had never experienced a feeling of such overwhelming pleasure, truly did not know your body was capable of this.

Din was praising you, stroking you through your pleasure, murmuring sweetly, telling you how  _ good  _ you were for him, he only ever wants you to  _ feel good _ , and your legs wouldn’t stop shaking as he eased his fingers out of you, and you soon heard the obscene sounds of his mouth cleaning your cum, your slick from his fingers.

You were coming down, but instead of exhaustion you were shocked by the arousal you continued to feel, as if this could never end and you could die like this with this man just fucking you and making you feel...wanted. Treasured. 

You knew Din hadn’t even been properly touched yet, you yearned to have his cock in your mouth, to make him feel as good as he had made you feel, but he stilled your shaking hand when you reached blindly in the darkness from behind your blindfold.

“You’ll get your chance, sweet girl, but I had to give you this so I can...please, can you take me inside of you? I won’t….last long, not after what just happened. I just need you, need to feel you…”

He had barely finished his request before you were nodding frantically. He chuckled lowly in response.

And all at once you felt the movement of air in the hull and you felt Din’s  _ heat, _ the volcanic energy that naturally radiated off of him and you knew he’d feel volcanically hot elsewhere and  _ Maker _ , you knew you’d taken him before but when you felt him nudging at your entrance you had to take...a moment. Perhaps it was your lack of sight, but you focused on the blunt ridge of his head as he notched into you, and you felt the burn of the stretch, even though he had made sure to take care of you first, and he entered you so, so slowly, pausing every inch to let you adjust, panting so hard you wondered how he could maintain such ungodly control, and it kept going and  _ going in  _ until...you felt the weight of his hips against yours. He paused, asking if you were alright, if he was hurting you, so careful and  _ considerate _ that you felt your tears coursing down your cheeks in gratitude.

Then you felt him _ twitch _ , filling you impossibly more, and you could not stop your ragged wail, so surprising in its volume that Din froze, looked down and saw your tears, and  _ panicked _ . He withdrew himself in one smooth movement, his voice near hysterical.

“Maker I hurt you...I’m so sorry,  _ so fucking sorry, gods please are you okay? _ Are you…..”

You growled in response to him.

“Put it back in….”

“Wha…..?”

“Put it back in,” you whined arching your hips upward, chasing him, chasing his swollen heat. You were babbling, nearly incoherent.

_ “Please Din please put it back in please give it back please give me your cock fucking please….” _

“Oh, oh fuck, sweetheart…. _ oh fuck, oh fuck okay…..” _

__ He eased himself back into you and when he was halfway in you palmed his ass and  _ shoved _ him down into you, and you  _ screamed _ as you felt him bottom out.

_ “Holy fuck...holy fuck….,” _ Din chanted like a prayer and he speared into you again and again, and he was hitting that same spot that he did with his fingers but this time he was so  _ tight _ inside your walls that it was almost too much and not enough at the same time.

You were talking, gasping, mindlessly chanting his name like a prayer as he pistoned into you, wrecked sobs emerging from your mouth with every thrust in as Din answered you with his own filthy sounds, and the rhythmic moist sound of his cock rocking in and out of you reverberated through the Crest with a  _ slap...slap...slap _ that reverberated and added to the frenzy of your pleasure.

_ “So good…” _ you gasped in between desperate kisses and gropes of your hands over whatever sweat-slicked flesh they could reach.  _ “Feels so fucking good, never knew it could be like this, your fucking cockpleasedon’tstop…..” _

__ And Din answered you in stuttering gasps, he was so  _ close _ but he wanted you to see him, he would make you his, show you his face and make you look down when he fucked you so you could watch how he  _ stretched _ you, how you took him  _ so well _ , how your lips bulged outward and clung to him when he drew himself out, how your hungry cunt  _ sucked _ him back in,  _ how in the world you could fit him all the way inside of you, you were made for him, his _ angel….

You knew it was going to happen when his thrusts became erratic and his words faltered. You cooed to him sweetly, urging him on, stroking his back, running your fingers through his matted hair that clung to him with his exertions.

_ “My sweet boy, beautiful man, come for me, come inside….take what you need, give it to me…” _ and then you continued to praise him as his hips stilled and he swelled impossible  _ thicker _ , incredibly  _ larger, _ and he screamed lowly, grunting and cursing and he spurted into you again and again, and you swore it went on forever. Din’s orgasm was  _ deep _ and  _ long _ and he milked everything from it, tensed and jerking against you, and you knew you were overflowing, and finally his spasms began to slow.

He collapsed to the side of you with a deep sigh, and reached to draw you to him as he pressed endless light kisses along your jaw.

You felt giddy and weightless. You felt the need to speak, and yet you could not find words of an appropriate profundity to verbalize how transformative the experience had been for you. Instead, you blurted out the first thing that came into your mind.

“I think we may have ruined your cape.”

  
  


_ Fin. _

  
  
  
  
  



	3. Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You continue to navigate your relationship with the Mandalorian.

You were back on Nevarro. After leaving Coruscant, Din needed to reconvene with Karga to replenish his source of income. You had missed out on a rather large payday, something for which you harbored inexplicable guilt. While it had certainly been no fault of your own that you were taken and almost assaulted (or worse), you inwardly cringed when you thought of how much work Din would have to accomplish to make up for the lost credits.

Din refused to let you feel guilty. He saw your nervous swallowing, your distant gaze through the curved glass at the front of the Crest, and admonished you gently.

“I….Din, I’m-”

“Don’t,” firm, but soft. Direct, but not without compassion.

You understood that things had to be different when you were out in the open. The events of Coruscant had made it abundantly clear that you were at risk merely by virtue of being seen with him. Any sign of connection, of affection between you would be a sure liability. So you kept your distance on Nevarro, but could not stop the butterflies that roosted in your gut when your peripheral revealed his self-assured stride, so different from the stuttering, desperate actions of your bodies when you had been alone and truly showed yourselves to one another. You kept it like a secret and devoured his every action, every lithe movement with quick, clever glances. 

Since that second time you’d been together, without the haze of the serum and with the presence of mind to approach one another with deliberate intention, you had not had an opportunity to further revisit your affections: the activity elsewhere was too great, your need for credits and supplies too demanding. You had settled on backwater planets on the Outer Rim, searching for parts particular to Din’s pre-Empire craft.

This proved a task more involved than some, and you scrambled and searched through alleyways and under nefarious awnings, haggling part and parcel with suspicious sorts who claimed they had leads on equipment that had mysteriously fallen off the back of a transport vessel. You walked and bargained endlessly before you could even entertain your return to the cantina on Nevarro.

You were not often alone with Mando as you were ensconced in ship repair and maintenance, something you’d quickly come to excel at. For his part, Din often disappeared during the daylight hours to meet with various unknown individuals to forge deals, agreements, gather information perhaps? You were not privy to what he occupied himself with, yet you trusted him. He involved himself with his own mysterious machinations, but he now answered your questions. Things had become easier between you, an understanding that you seemed to have reached after having shared your bodies with one another freely in the hull. Though not vocal concerning your previous intimacy, Din deigned to reveal pieces of himself to you in incremental amounts, and you stored these morsels away in corners of your soul.

Your days continued thus, and it was often that you fell to your bedroll exhausted, barely conscious after your head hit the ground. This was new, this ability to slumber deeply and without fear- where you had once hovered in twilight between the doorway of wakefulness and sleep, you now drifted away on waves of oblivion that left you feeling as if you could finally begin to let go of the inky shadows that had hooked into the corners of your mind. You did not pursue Din; you gave him his space. You knew despite his earlier declarations in the throes of your congress that he needed time to adjust himself to this. Indeed, you harbored secret fears of scaring him away if you were to be overly bold with him.

While on your way to the cantina on Nevarro, you had wandered through the bustling marketplace. Where before you’d been hurried and scattered, coughing on dust and desperate not to be left behind, now you drifted through with your shoulders back, eyes level on goods and produce the likes of which you had no occasion to note before. You honed in on a table of scarves, caught by the way the jewel-hued silks waved lazily in the dry, gentle breeze. You were drawn to them, to the hypnotic movements that wove a spell that enticed. One in particular drew your eye, reminding you somehow of a shift your mother had been fond of wearing when you were young enough to barely reach her knee. It was a rich, burnt umber in hue, woven with streaks of blue so dark they were nearly black. Your hand reached out to the cloth, considering, before snapping it back as you remembered yourself.

“I dye the silks myself,” you startled as a diminutive humanoid man, covered head to toe in fine silver hair, emerged from behind the makeshift counter. “The silkworm film is imported all the way from Galogolos.”

You gazed wistfully, meeting the merchant’s kind eyes with some hesitation.

“They are very beautiful…” you trailed off as your name, abrupt and clipped, was spoken from beneath Beskar somewhere behind your shoulder.

“We should go. Karga’s waiting,” once again his voice was firm, but not unkind. You nodded quickly, remembering why it was that you were back here, and followed along to the doors of the waiting cantina.

**********

The interior of the now- familiar meeting place was as bustling as it always was. Greef Karga was once again in his familiar booth, flagon before him. It seemed as if time and movement had suspended itself the moment you’d left that last time, only to reanimate almost violently the moment you returned.

Greef did not stand this time. Instead, he looked up and smiled wearily at your deliberate approach. It did not reach his eyes. You and Din slid wordlessly into the booth much as you had before. Greef did not speak right away, rather concentrated on the way his gloves drew an aimless pattern in the condensation on the flagon before him. An endless moment passed before Din cleared his throat, an awkward sound floating out of his vocoder. At last, Karga spoke.

“What of the bounty on Coruscant?”

A pause, the air thick between you. Your knee jumped and shook silently under the table, a nervous habit you were barely aware of.

“There were….complications,” Din rasped.

Karga nodded thoughtfully, before swinging his gaze directly to you. His hand moved loosely as if throwing dice, gesturing toward you. Carelessly, you thought.

“Is she the complication, Mando?”

You felt as if the blood froze in your veins. At the same time your face heated impossibly. Your eyes could not meet his. He had been so warm, so gregarious and welcoming before. Now, he viewed you as one would a tiresome inconvenience.

Why is she still here? You could imagine the wordless subtext woven into his question. Your eyes cast downward. You felt somehow ashamed as your knee continued its stutter.

You felt the stillness, the silence from the Mandalorian beside you. Motionless even as you were wound so tight and kinetic. As with your last time there, you felt the sudden pressure of his knee against yours as he widened his stance where he sat. It was different this time, more purposeful, the pressure firm and very deliberate. A beat later a warm, gloved hand was on your thigh. He gripped you firmly for a moment before you felt his grasp relax and he rested it there like a weight of reassurance, of protection.

Still yourself, you could almost hear his thoughts broadcast into your jittering mind. Your leg ceased its jumping and pressed back against him. He did not shy away from the touch.

“She isn’t going anywhere. Her assistance on my ship has been invaluable to me.”

You felt a flush of pride then, straightening your back to finally look Karga in the eye.

He said you were invaluable. To him.

“Be that as it may, Mando, I can’t have one of the highest earners in the Guild losing marks.”

“I didn’t. Lose. The mark,” Din’s voice was dark, seething. A warning. You thought of the alleyway. You held your gaze on Karga’s as his eyes widened and an electric jolt of lust settled low inside you. 

“Give me a puck. I will bring the mark in this time.”

***********

It was sometime later when you’d returned to the Crest. The rest of the conversation between Din and Karga had been even more stilted than before, though luckily Din hadn’t broken any of the other man’s fingers, as you had feared when Mando had ripped the offered pucks from the Guild leader’s grasp. You had truly not been able to leave quickly enough after that, striding quickly behind Din’s purposeful steps. This time, when he realized he’d outpaced you, he turned to wait for you to catch up. He’d reached out, seemingly without thinking, to brush a few errant strands of hair behind your ear. You froze, considering his actions. He’d done it out in the open, among others. 

He’d put his hand on you in public, where everyone could see. He had inadvertently exposed you as something of worth to him without a thought. First his words, then his actions. You put this new information away in your mind to examine later.

He’d been given two pucks this time to make up for the loss on Coruscant. The first bounty was conveniently on Nevarro, the second on the desert planet Tatooine. He instructed you to stay on the ship while he collected the first mark. He did not elaborate, he did not soften his words or touch you again. You understood that you were a risk to him, you could not defend yourself. So you stayed without complaint, and you sat in the cockpit contemplating the way Din’s tone had darkened when your presence was questioned in the cantina. How his tone had affected you, how it had turned you molten and aching almost immediately.

How was it, you supposed, that he could have such an effect on you so effortlessly? The tone of his voice so deadly serious, as low and sonorous as a growl. Animalistic. 

Primal.

You shivered at the memory of the rumble of his voice through his bare chest as you had lain caged beneath him. When he was with you the deadly promise of his voice disappeared. You thought of how he moaned so sweetly against your neck, how he pleaded and praised you, his lack of eloquence more than made up for by his wanton desperation. For you.

You rubbed your thighs together restlessly, the memory of your last time together in the hull a bolt of searing heat blooming between your legs. It had been a while, too long, since he had filled you until you had felt as if he could split you apart. Since your overwhelming pleasure had nonetheless made you so slick that he could eventually slide the immensity of his cock so snugly into you, again and again, as if your most sensitive parts had been made for one another.

A sudden thought struck you as your eyes widened in the silent space of the cockpit. You stood from your usual seat and moved to plop down in the pilot’s chair. The leather, well-worn and softened like butter, creaked as it molded to your unfamiliar form. This seat. Din was sure and capable when he was here in this seat. You had often admired him silently as he piloted the Crest with such fluid ease, as if more on instinct than rote memory. You’d carefully study his reflection in the curved glass of the transparisteel beside you, feigning interest in the inky blackness just beyond you. 

You wondered if someday he might take you right here, in the chair he felt so proficient and confident in. The thought made your teeth worry at your lip as images of him covering you, claiming you, made that thick and heavy lust curl more forcefully and you wondered how he would just rail into you here...from behind, as your fingers scrabbled for purchase against the back of the headrest? Or would he have your bare ass pulled to the edge of the seat, pants pulled down as he fisted the crotch of them and leveraged the fabric to keep your knees braced against his chest? Would Din let you ride him here?

You had inched your pants just barely down over the curve of your ass and decided you’d keep as much of your mess off of his leather as possible. You needed this, you had kept this inside for weeks and you were so desperate for a release, for anything, that your breath hitched as your fingers found your slick, so unbelievably wet. It was a flood covering your fingers as they pressed and circled your engorged clit. The sounds of your ministrations echoed through the otherwise silent cockpit, your teeth sank into your lip as you bit back a whimper and imagined your fingers were Din’s. His hands, so large and sure, able to set your nerves aflame and your heart stuttering with just a ghost of skimming touch, burning you while they left their permanent scars of intention.

Your breathing grew more labored as pleasure pulled drawstring-tight within you, your fingers circled faster as you felt your orgasm build urgently. This was all you needed, this quick release. Once you got it out of you your focus would return.

Except you started when you heard the hiss of hydraulics beneath you.

The ramp. Din.

You were frozen as you contemplated your next move. Should you stay where you were, let him find you? That idea was quickly dashed as you heard a thump followed by a pained grunt. You stood hurriedly and pulled your pants up, hands flying to refasten them and smooth your hair into something less chaotically askew. Was the noise from the bounty, or could it be from Din? Your nerves sparked to life as you contemplated the image of an injured Mando, barely managing to hurl some unseen, fetid beast of a mark into the carbonite chamber.

Your heart pounded as the sound of ascending steps reverberated upward, signaling an approach. You visibly let go of the breath you’d been holding as the glint of beskar came into your view. Din stepped toward his chair as he tilted his visor toward you.

“I’m sorry that took so long. The mark was…..”

He stopped. The visor before you was considering, tilting further as he appeared to size you up. Your heart was suddenly in your throat. You swallowed thickly around it.

“......are you alright?”

“um….(cough)...I mean, yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Din shifted his weight from one foot to the other. This was his only movement aside from the subtle rise and fall of the beskar hitched to his chest.

“You….you seem...off.”

Your eyes dropped to his boots. Your arms crossed. You felt your face grow impossibly warmer. You squeezed your eyes shut as you spoke.

“I….sat in your chair.”

“You sat in my chair?” Mando’s voice sounded incredulous. He took another step forward. “What were you doing in my chair?” his voice was low and rough. You saw that he had clenched his fists.

He knew. Or at least suspected. He no doubt felt the heat rolling off of your form in waves. He could probably see how your heat signature bloomed heavy and low in your undercarriage. 

He took another step. You were vibrating, on the edge of combustion. You could not hide from him, laid bare as though every part of you, from your intentions to your experiences, to your very soul, was a scroll for him to unwrap and read at his leisure. All Din had to do was reach out and you would unravel on contact.

And he did, his gloved hand venturing forth to skim the flesh at the junction of your neck and shoulder as the soft plosive of your name was barely above a whisper.

The contact of leather fingertip to neck was abruptly accompanied by a jolt that rocked the Crest sideways. You stumbled sideways toward the pane of transparisteel next to you, barely regaining your balance as a series of blunt blows seemed to scream up at you from the exterior of the ramp below. Din withdrew his hand as if burned, turning abruptly and reclaiming his seat without preamble. His movements flowed like practiced poetry as he flipped switches and dials.

“Get in your seat and secure yourself. I knew I was being followed, just didn’t know they’d get here so quickly,” he growled, entirely focused on the emergent tasks before him. You obeyed wordlessly, strapping yourself into your regular seat as you watched him work.

You were not scared because he was here with you. At one time you would have been witlessly terrified by the idea of an attempted breach of the craft. You had since learned to trust the Mandalorian implicitly.

He could switch gears so effortlessly, from raw and intimate to impassive calculation to deadly intimidation. Nevertheless you knew you were safe with him.

A worrisome groan and metallic screech accompanied the liftoff of the ship. You winced, gazing out of the curved glass to see that a group of what appeared to be pirate marauders had been attempting to break into the hull with makeshift explosives. Their attempts seemed woefully inadequate, as they fell to the ground and scattered into the alleyways of the city as the Crest pulled free and began hurtling into the troposphere.

“Who were they?” you gritted out as your stomach lurched with the rapid atmospheric inertia that always occurred when the ship slipped from planetary sky into orbit.

“Friends of the bounty, I guess,” Din answered you as he faced forward and steered the ship effortlessly into the dark stillness among stars. “Either friends or people he owed money to.”

It was a stretch of measureless time before Din spoke again.

“Karga was right.”

“What?”

“I said, Karga was right. I need to teach you how to defend yourself. You’re with me and that makes you a target.”

You’re with me.

“Train me...how, exactly?” the question was out of your mouth before you realized the words might have an alternate implication. Your skin heated instantly, your eyes squeezed shut and you thanked the Maker that Din kept his visor cocked straight ahead. Mando paused, tellingly you thought, before replying.

“I have a spare blaster. I’m going to teach you how to use it when we get to Tatooine. I’m going to have to leave you on the ship more often than not when I collect bounties, so you need to know how to protect yourself when I can’t be here.”

It was still the most he’d said to you outside of when he’d fucked you. 

You returned to your meager bedroll before the Crest dropped out of hyperspace one final time upon your approach to Tatooine.

There, on the worn padding of your threadbare bed, was the scarf you’d admired in Nevarro.

************

“Show me your stance,” he called to you from the edge of the clearing. You had arrived on Tatooine on schedule despite your rough departure from Nevarro. The air here was thick, the desert heat dry and encompassing. The ground and sandstone structures were all colored in varying shades of brown, dun, eggshell, and faded green. You had unwound your usual scarf from around your neck which exposed an expanse of your upper chest and gave you some humble ventilation, but you were still hot and felt slow rivulets of sweat gather in the crease of your cleavage. You pointedly ignored it and tried to concentrate.

You placed yourself into what you imagined your ‘stance’ would be, assuring that Din most likely found it laughable. You widened your stance and cocked the blaster that he’d given you that felt way heavier than it had appeared initially.

Din had insisted on wasting no time once the Crest had touched down- he had wanted to begin training you as soon as possible, relaying to you that he needed you to have at least some knowledge before he set off for the second bounty. And so here you were on the sparsely populated outskirts of the planet’s most populated town, doing your best to steady your grip on the blaster as you peered down the length of the barrel toward the target before you. Din had set up various targets of colored glass and durasteel refuse he’d procured from a nearby dumping ground and set them up on duracrete pillars.

“Let’s see how you shoot,” came the voice distorted by the helmet. You redoubled your focus, arm trembling slightly, and pulled the trigger. The sound surprised you as the blast swung up and far left of the intended target. The recoil hammered into your shoulder, the force of it spinning you sideways as you fell gracelessly onto your ass in the dust. Your teeth clacked together painfully as the impact traveled up your spine and rattled your brain.

“Oof…”

The sun was blinding you, dazzling your vision as you caught a ray bent through the glass in the distance to refract directly into your face. You could barely make out the outline of Din’s boots as they approached you, stirring emphatic pillows of dust in the wake of his deliberate stride. An orange-fingered glove appeared next against your squinting line of sight.

“Up you go,” and you had to fight the urge to kick out at him, there was no mistaking the smug amusement he wasn’t even trying to hide.

“I’m glad I can at least provide you some amusement,” you grumbled as you stood awkwardly and began brushing sand off the seat of your pants. “Keep in mind that I’m far from some elite hunter. I’ve never even held one of those before.”

“I’m aware. I wanted to get an idea of what would work best for you tactically. It’s often best to gauge a person’s instinct when it comes to weapons training. It’s better to adapt a defense strategy more aligned to what they’d tend to do naturally.”

It…. made a lot of sense actually. Not that you were in the mood to give him the satisfaction.

“The closer you stay to your center of gravity, the more accurate you’ll tend to be,” Din continued, beginning to circle you lazily. You began your own turn to remain facing him, but he stopped you with a tap to your elbow. “You need more stability in your lower half, or your top will over-correct and you’ll miss wide every time. Widen your stance.”

You didn’t have time to react to his words as he was at your back all at once, his boot kicking your legs further apart. So smooth, so graceful and maker-forsaken fast. You could barely blink, and he was a solid wall of heat against your back, beskar baking in the twin suns. Despite the stifling desert air, you shivered.

You felt his hands hovering just over your shoulders before they landed, the right skimming slowly down your arm to where you held the blaster. You struggled to keep your grip on the piece, almost dropping it into the dust at the shock of contact. When his hand reached yours the leather curled over your fist as he brought his other hand over to meet his first, effectively caging you from behind. You fought hard to focus, to process his words, when all you wanted to do was combust.

“Hold the grip like you mean it.” you swore you had never heard his voice get so low, so close to the cusp of your ear. You knew your sharp intake of breath was embarrassingly obvious. You fought to steady yourself, inhaling and exhaling in deliberate measures as if you were staving off a panic attack. But it wasn’t panic, and you felt your cresting arousal threaten to eclipse any semblance of self control you were clinging to.

Din fucking knew it, too. 

“Aim,” the word was a whisper growled, even closer now. You felt the edge of beskar just barely skim the fine hairs at your temple. You drew a final breath in and held it. All at once you felt his hands on your hips, gripping, gloved fingertips sinking in and bruising. You felt as if you were going to pass out.

Instead, your jaw clenched, and you squeezed the trigger. You braced your upper body now, shoulder bouncing off of Mando’s pauldron at the same time as his hands jerked your hips backward to press against his. You looked forward, shocked and elated, as the blaster shot had shattered a corner of glass in front of you. Not a direct hit, but something.

You exhaled, feeling your legs tremble. You realized that you were sagging backward against Din as his arms moved from your hips to encircle your waist.

“Good girl.”

His words brought an unintentional whine from you. His arms tightened. You felt yourself pressing back onto him and it was firmer, more intentional. You struggled to sort through the flood of your chaotic emotions that were warring within you for dominance. Elation at your blaster shot. Wonder at the discovery of this unexpected competence. Desperate lust for the man who held you. Your eyes squeezed shut as you found your wavering voice.

“We should...go back. To the ship…..,” you whispered, voice strained and reedy.

“I know what you were doing in my chair,” Din whispered, not a beat later. 

************

Of course Din knew.

The bounty had been hard-won, much more difficult than he’d originally anticipated. Though he could normally overcome the mark easily, the combination of general muscle fatigue and lack of sleep made the directive more taxing. It certainly didn’t help that he’d had to wrestle the bounty from the groups of mercs he’d unexpectedly come upon. 

He was getting too old for this shit.

Nonetheless he’d subdued the mercenaries, knowing that he did not have the reserves to properly dispatch them. He succeeded in separating the mark from what was assuredly a much more grisly fate and hurried back to the ship. Back to you.

He was finally beginning to acknowledge that what was between you was not dwindling. He’d committed himself to making up for the credits that he’d abandoned on Coruscant. It consumed him that you felt in any way responsible for it- it was Din, not you, who was at fault. He had known better than to let you out of his sight, yet he had done so. You were vulnerable and he let you slip from his protection.

Never again.

Karga had gotten to him, he hated to admit. As if he’d somehow known how to push Din’s buttons, he’d brought up the one thing that was fit to set off his somewhat infamous temper. He’d brought up the fact that your weakness was a liability. Din hated it just as much as he knew it was true. If you hadn’t been beside him, grounding him, he would have bounced Greef’s head off the surface of the table. 

His feelings had gained new colors and textures. He thought of you when you were with him, and more so when you weren’t. It was becoming a problem he was more and more unsure he was willing to solve.

He’d bought the scarf almost without thought. His reasoning did not take any nuance: rather, he saw you admire it, how your eyes widened and sparkled with a melancholy yearning, and decided that it needed to be yours. He did not question why. He realized then that he wanted to make you happy. 

He did not dwell on this, afraid of what it might imply.

Din knew he craved the warmth of your body. He’d had you twice, and feared the loss of control that was always at the forefront of his mind when he was around you. He feared losing more focus, letting you dull his edge. He worried about you when he had to leave you alone. He knew he needed to teach you how to defend yourself, and this would involve getting close to you once again. He knew where being close to you could lead, and Din both craved and feared it. He was constantly both attracted and reluctant to fully give in, like polar opposites of a magnet that craved a connection while desperately fighting to maintain some safe and respectable distance.

He’d thought he’d imagined your strangled moan and urgent gasp when he finished shutting the bounty into the carbonite chamber. Immediately, he panicked. Someone was here, was in the cockpit. Hurting you.

He’d put you in danger. Again. How could he have failed so spectacularly at something he’d been so mindful of, so determined to maintain? It was then that he’d barely heard your whimper, followed by the sound of something rhythmic. Wet. 

Oh. 

All at once his beskar was too tight, too restrictive. He felt the foreign impulse to tear his clothing and confront you. The realization of what you were engaged with making him inflamed, the adrenaline from the capture and stress of his unexpected exertions serving to spurn him further to another complete loss of control where it came to you.

He’d stood for an endless moment, considering, before finally climbing the ladder. He held his breath as he crested the flooring of the cockpit, only to observe you hastily putting yourself back to sorts. You must have heard him.

He took in your heaving chest, your disheveled hair, and as you were rushing to appear almost comically casual, he saw the glint of slick that remained on your fingers.

His mouth went dry. He was gone, speechless, utterly lost. Despite his best, most noble intentions, he was touching you before he realized it. Your eyes wide, shining, blown wide open, your lips trembling almost imperceptibly, your breasts heaving outward as he could hear the beat of your heart….

The switch was flipped as Din felt the Crest rock under duress. The spell broke without preamble, and Din slammed back to his purpose, reality ruining the hot cast of his desire as suddenly as if he’d been pulled violently from a lucid, fevered dream.

Teaching had gone just as he’d initially feared. You were close to him, and you were trying your best to concentrate on his instructions. His appreciation for your sincere focus and attention was something so wholly part of what endeared you to him that his chest ached with a swell of affection.

He felt your heat the moment he stepped behind you. He forced himself to clench his jaw and concentrate, but the way he detected the barely-contained quivering of your limbs made his breath hitch, and he thanked the Maker you couldn’t see his face. When you had fired the blaster for the second time, clipping the edge of the glass target, you had anticipated the kickback but had still been thrown backward. 

Din braced to catch you, reflexively grabbing your waist as your ass pistoned backward into him. The shock of the sudden contact, right where he knew you wanted him, sent sparks through his nerve endings and everything inside of him, his resolve, his quiet reserve and careful deliberations, every restless, fraught night of wanting and needing something he wasn’t sure could be even right for him just….

Din just snapped. And he said what he said. 

************

And, Din expounded on what he said, as you knew how his exhortations more than made up for his reticence when you were not...carnally involved.

You were fully disrobed, a feat that had taken mere seconds once you re-emerged into the cockpit. Din had pushed you up the ladder, breathing so hard he was nearly wheezing, propelling you up the ladder with one hot hand palming your cunt. Possessive, snarling that it was his, he needed to show you that he hadn’t forgotten about you, about that cunt that he obsessed over, he knew it was wrong to think it and he appreciated you so much, you were so good and kind and patient but….but your pussy was heaven, salvation, he needed it on his handinhismouthonhiscock…

You sprawled out in his chair, the chair Din insisted you take, as he tipped it back and asked permission to put himself in your mouth. That’s what he said, voice soft, rough and somehow shy.

You had fastened the scarf he brought you from Nevarro to obscure your vision. It had made you pause at first, it almost seemed like you were entertaining some kind of desecration. 

“Is, is it okay to..use this? It’s beautiful. I love it…”

Hands, large and warm and naked, enveloped your face as you felt the smooth beskar touch against your forehead.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Din choked. “You deserve beautiful things. Please.”

And so you were here, tipped back in the chair that the Mandalorian used to pilot his ship, yet another sacred space to be used as a place in which to give yourself...this. Him. Din had not fully undressed, merely removed as much of his beskar as he could stand in order to feel you. You heard the dull clang of the helmet as it was hastily set aside, you felt the burn of the sun-baked cuirass he couldn’t bother to discard at your temple.

You felt Din, hot, blunt and slick, sliding the swollen crown of his cock against your lips. You moaned softly and invited him into the furnace of your mouth, tongue sliding over the slit that was leaking a steady stream of precum. Your lips caressed the hot, throbbing flesh of him, so hard and so, so velvety soft in equal turns. This was otherworldly to you, the silence of the space echoing back and forth to you with Din’s desperate panting, his whine as you disengaged before endeavoring to take him further down.

“Huh….fuck….fuck, sweatheart. Look. At. You. This is all I think about, when I’m flying, when I’m fighting, when I’m….huh...fucking sleeping…”

His words further carried you forward into this world you’d both so carefully curated over the course of glances, brief electric touches, hitching breaths and unspoken promises. This was just for you, for Din. You knew that it was something you could give one another that you’d been denied, hidden from you. It felt safe and so good, and you wanted to live here.

You wanted to give him everything, every part of you. Your hum around his throbbing cock turned to a moan as you felt his bare hand grasping desperately at your breast, your chest heaving into the cycled air. The sweat, replenished anew on your flesh, allowed his fingers to slide and squeeze and pinch as if conducting a piece of music. He tuned you like a sacred instrument, and it was exquisite.

You opened your jaw as wide as you could, taking him down so far that his head nudged at your throat. You swallowed around him, gagging as strands of spit collected and dripped down your chin. You felt tears in your eyes that spilled over, soaking your scarf and darkening the edges of the cloth.

You were wrecking him. Din’s hips stuttered, he lost his voice and let out a growl that was almost inhuman, guttural and keening and long, and he froze as he unexpectedly spilled into your mouth, overwhelming you with the force, intensity and volume of his orgasm. What you could not swallow streamed out of your mouth and baptized you. Gasping, catching your breath, Din’s hands were on your face, your cheeks, stroking reverently, mumbled apologies, he didn’t mean to but it felt too good and it had been so long…

Rough-cut cloth against your face as you felt the chair tipping up, slowly reorienting yourself. Din cleaned you as you lay immobile, dizzy from both the sightless change in position and the wonderment that accompanied the knowledge that he’d come in your mouth again. And you had...loved it. The power you’d felt as this imposing Mandalorian fell apart for you, just you, felt like the opposite of what you’d been subjected to for such a colossal part of your life. For the first time, you felt as if you could get used to this.

The air shifted as you felt Din shift in front of you, onto his knees between your legs. Your breath hitched as he shifted your ass to the edge of the leather seat. You knew where this was going, and you unconsciously gyrated your hips for him, enticing him. You presented like an animal in heat, back arched and legs lifted. You were past the point of self-consciousness or embarrassment; you were desperate, your cunt clenched and burned with arousal. Your body demanded him and you gave in, anticipation making you pant and mewl and beg him, so soft and desperate.

“Please….Maker please…..”

Your hips stuttered up as you felt the unexpected exhale against your thigh. So hot, so close. You felt the muscles of your thighs jump and twitch uncontrollably. He was trying to kill you, his lips tracing wet kisses and nips against your flesh that made you cry out into the darkness that shrouded your vision.

“My beautiful, sweet, kind girl….,” Din cooed against you. “Show me what you did here, in my seat. How did you touch yourself?”

His directive wrenched a ragged cry from you. You were being incinerated by him. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew you’d have no choice but to give him exactly what he asked of you. Your fingers snaked down to where you were clenching and dripping and when your fingers made contact, the wrecked sound of Din’s voice against your skin, the force of the closeness and intensity of his exhale, nearly had you cumming before you made contact with your ready clit. You answered him with your own cry, rubbing in circles up and down, pulling as much sensation from between your legs as you could. Almost immediately you barreled toward an unbelievably intense orgasm.

“Fucking….fucking beautiful. I want to live here...no more bounties. Only you. You need this baby? You need it so. Fucking. Bad. So fucking needy. Dripping all over my chair. Making such a fucking mess….”

And Maker, his mouth was on you, he moaned around your fingers and you jerked your hand away with a shriek, the volume of your voice momentarily startling you and his velvet tongue was sliding through your folds as if it were some heavenly order he felt compelled to obey. 

“HUH….oh, fuck, Din! Fuck yes…..”

His lips disengaged from your soaking, twitching cunt with another low groan.

“Keep touching yourself, my sweet girl. Don’t you fucking stop…” he grasped your fingers, so slick with what you’d made, back to the hard nub of your clit. You feverishly resumed as his mouth fastened on your cunt, widening impossibly, tongue fluttering down to unexpectedly slick your asshole as your sounds were now guttural, animal, no longer caring how you sounded. You were on the verge of an explosion you weren’t entirely sure you could handle. His mouth traveled up, tongue flicking into your hole, before finally slicking up to the fingers working your clit. He sucked them and your nub, whimpering encouragement between moans and whimpers.

“Never neglect you again…..never leave you this needy again. Give you what you need..need you to come on my tongue…”

As if on command, you came as he requested, shaking and pouring into his mouth and he drank you in. You’re sure you sounded as if you were being murdered with the unhinged cries that poured out of you, the same way your come poured freely into Din’s mouth. It was so intense that you could have lost consciousness. All the while, Din’s mouth kept moving, he kept moaning into you and worked you through it, easing you down as if he’d been born to give this to you.

All at once you felt the air shift again, and you whined in protest as his mouth abruptly left you. You felt the cooling air of the cockpit only momentarily before you felt the overwhelming nudge of the blunt, slick head of his cock at the notch of your entrance.

You rocked your hips in an attempt to somehow capture his cock. You knew you were shameless with lust. You did not care.

“So eager, baby….so ready for me. Are you going to let me fill this pussy? Can….can I put it in?”

“Ohfuckyes….please. Please, Din…”

And oh, that delicious stretch, that splitting open that set every nerve on fire. Your arousal and your come easing the way, you threw your head back. After needing this for so. Damn. Long….this was everything. This was oxygen. He had only just pressed his hips into yours when he had fully sheathed himself, and you felt yourself already on the edge again. It was exquisite madness.

A large hand on your breast, then sliding up to your throat. He squeezed gently as he began to withdraw and then advance, so slowly and deeply that the wet squelching from his cock rocking into and out of your tight, slick hole was protracted and obscene in between Din whining, moaning, entirely overcome with being inside of you. His hand left your throat and coasted up your cheek to your scarf. You only barely registered what was happening as he began to lift the silken cloth from your eyes. Your heart hammered for a different reason. You automatically squeezed your eyes shut, shocked, your hips stilling.

“Din….,” you gasped, voice hoarse from your pleasured screams. “What….what are you doing?”

His voice was in your ear, breath stirring you, impossibly close. 

“I want you to look…” he whispered. 

“N-no! I can’t! Your...your Creed…..”

“I….I trust you. I want you sho[www...show](http://www...show/) you how fucking good. How good you are for me…”

Finally grasping what he meant, your eyes eased open, bleary and furtive. Carefully avoiding Din’s face, you cast your eyes downward to where you were joined.

He was so deep inside of you you weren’t sure how it was anatomically possible. The lips of your cunt stretched around his pulsing girth, almost purple with arousal. You stared fascinated as he began to draw himself out of you, the slick of your arousal contrasting with the thicker, frothier white of your come clinging to every vein, his cock shining, shimmering with evidence of you. You watched as your lips clung to him, before disappearing inward as you swallowed him impossibly once more. The sight was so erotic, so unbelievably filthy and you felt your orgasm spike out of nothing and then crash into you with a forcefulness that took your breath away. Choking on your hitching sobs, Din’s cock pushed through the resistance with a keening groan as he pushed inside again and held himself there, grinding into your pubic bone, rocking up and down as you milked every last bit of overwhelming ecstasy from his cock.

“So...fucking beautiful,” he moaned above you. “So fucking perfect. So tight and wet when you come all over me like this…”

When he began to draw himself out of you again, you whined as he didn’t stop. He left your pussy with a distinctly wet sound as you began to protest.

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

And so you did, gasping and chuckling as you realized you needed his help. You were dizzy, almost delirious, legs shaking like a newborn fawn as he helped you turn awkwardly to face the back of his pilot’s seat. Your breathless laugh was cut off as in one smooth movement Din fisted your hair in his hand and abruptly slid back into you in one motion and you let out a shocked sound somewhere between a gasp and a shout. It was both as graceful and as brutal as you’d witnessed him in battle. Or teaching you in the clearing, except now the chest that pressed into your back was bare and hot and slick.

When he began to fuck you again, it was hard. And fast. Unforgiving. You were thrown against the back of the chair, fingers scrabbling for purchase as you’d once imagined. He drove into you, again and again, using the leverage of your hair in his fist to force your back to arch. Over and over and over he hit that one spot inside of you, and you yelped and yelled and moaned and you weren’t sure you would be able to talk the next day- you had never vocalized so loudly, in so much pleasure and sensation that he could give you, only him…

And Din was talking once again in your ear, and it took you a few hazy moments to make out his words as your mind, scrambled with lust, finally registered his words.

“Look at me. Turn your head and look at me….I want you to see me….”

“Din….Creed….”

“You are part of me. Woven into my soul. You are shaping who I am, angel. Look at me.”

You knew how close he was, hips shaking and stuttering behind you as the slapping sounds of your congress became less rhythmic. Din’s voice was so close, so shredded with his possession of you, of your body and soul, that you acquiesced before you could think and began to turn your head. You just caught the line of an aquiline nose, a furrowed brow, a plush mouth hanging open in ecstasy. You thought you were both destined to combust with the forbidden revelation of it all…..

Then, the comm link alarmed and you froze, head snapping forward.

Eyes squeezed shut once again as you hovered in limbo, your blood ran cold and the sweat on your skin prickled and hardened to unforgiving shards of glass as the familiar, imposing voice filled the chamber. The message began to autoplay. You did not turn your head to see what the holo projected; you knew who it was immediately.

“Mandalorian. You have something that belongs to me. You may think it of little consequence, but I do not take kindly to theft of property. To you, it may be just a slave. An insect of little importance. You are mostly correct.

“I know the collar was removed. As soon as it disengaged, its tracking beacon was activated. An implant housed within the property was installed without its knowledge. It includes codes for classified intel that I need...lest I am forced to deal with...an unpleasant circumstance. You do not need to know what this is or what it involves and I am sure you do not care. However, the intel housed within the slave cannot be released to anyone but myself. It is imperative that you return to me what is mine. If this demand is not engaged immediately, I will have no choice but to decommission the slave by initiating its autokill mode. If you do not heed my instructions the slave will be compelled to destroy itself at all costs,” the cold, distant voice of Arris Korro broadcast out of the holo and shattered any fragile hope you’d dared to hold on to.


End file.
